


No Faith in Men

by Bennyhatter



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Because of course he is, Because what else would he be, Betrayal, Daryl is a pirate, Daryl is going to die, Forbidden Love, Forbidden Romance, Hanging, M/M, Pain, Pirates and such, Rick is Commander of a British naval fleet, Suicide, This is really fucking sad basically, anguish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl is a pirate in love with a Commander. When he tries to sneak into port to see Rick, he gets caught.</p><p>It doesn't end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Faith in Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cornbread5287](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornbread5287/gifts).



> For cornbread, who had me listen to "Yo Ho Sebastian" and said something about sad Rickyl. So I gave them some horrendously sad fucking Rickyl.
> 
> Just a short one-shot.
> 
> I apologize in advance.

The cell is cold, and dank, and the moldy straw is barely fit for the rats that chew on it beside him. They do not fear him in the slightest, so used to men of his ilk come to disturb their foraging. Their tiny paws are chilled from the wet floor, running over his breeches and even braving crawling over his hands in their quest for whatever crumbs may be hidden in his pockets. The vermin will find nothing hidden amongst the filthy creases of his tunic, nor anywhere else.

"Dixon."

Daryl tilts his head back, his heart already torn and bleeding anew when he fixes on the stormy eyes looking at him through the thick, rusted bars. The Commander has done away with his posh, powdered wig; letting his dark curls tumble freely about his head. He's changed from his crisp uniform into softer breeches and a loose tunic, although his sword hangs at his hip same as always. He looks as beautiful as ever, and it makes everything worse.

"Daryl," he says next, softer and so tortured. He presses as close to the bars as he can get, one hand slipping between and reaching out beseechingly. "Why did you come back?"

Snorting, the pirate pushes himself harder against the wall behind him and plants his boots against the floor; digs his heels in and rests his arms against his knees for his hands to dangle limply in the space between. His voice is low and raspy, days with little water making the normally-deep rumble even rougher.

"Thought there was something to come back for. Guess I was wrong."

The Commander – _Rick_ – flinches like Daryl has physically struck him, some raw and animalistic sound spilling from his throat. It's swallowed by the flickering shadows, lost forever in the darkness broken only by the weak flames of the lanterns.

"I told you I would come to you, darling. I told you to _wait_."

"For how long?" Daryl challenges. His dry, cracked lips peel back from his yellowed teeth, his snarl the stuff of legends and nightmares. "For years, sailing the seas while ye wine and dine with yer pretty wenches and plan the destruction of my kind? Waiting on endless rolling tides and battered by destructive storms while ye slumber safely in your bed? How long would ye ask of me to suffer without while ye go on as normal?"

"Daryl," Rick whispers, sounding wretched and looking ill. His hand is still reaching, still hoping, and Daryl stares at it with eyes gone flat and dull, no longer as vibrant as the skies Rick had often compared them to.

If Daryl is the sky, then Rick was his storms, the man's passion and drive just as legendary as a Dixon's ruthlessness. Cold blooded killers, the both of them – fighting opposite sides of a war that has been raging for endless spans of time.

Men like Daryl are a dying breed, hunted without mercy. Hunted by men like Rick, whom had once sworn his heart and his life to his love for Daryl. And Daryl, being the fool his brother always accused, had fallen for the pretty words and _believed_.

"Will ye watch, while I am hanged?" he wonders aloud, tipping his head back against the wall and ignoring the rat chewing at the side of his boot. "Will ye stand with yer battalion and remain the stone-faced soldier they know ye t' be, while I swing from th' rope?"

"Do not ask this of me," Rick begs him. "Do not speak of my heart with so little regard."

"And what regard have ye shown mine?" Daryl snarls. The words are quiet but crack like a whip, and Rick recoils from the force of them with another broken sound. "What love have ye shown for my heart today, to have decreed this to be my fate? Ye once swore yer love was mine to have, an' mine was yers t' cherish. What of this speaks _love_ to ye?"

"I cannot disobey my King's command, Daryl, for all that I want nothing more than to see you free as you belong." Rick looks angry now, but not at Daryl. He is angry at himself, at his weaknesses, and Daryl closes his eyes lest it cause him to waver. He still loves Rick so fiercely, with all of himself, and that makes his heart tear even further.

Love was never supposed to be like this.

"And yet, ye will not free me. Ye will beg forgiveness without deserving it. Ye will see me _hanged_ and try nothing to stop it." He can’t even bring himself to sound properly furious. Too much has been taken from him, all the fight bled from his bones and leaving him hollow.

"Daryl, please, give me time. I will find a way!"

"Ye have used all yer time." Opening his eyes, Daryl looks to the window above his head, where the faint grey light of dawn heralds the arrival of his end. He can hear the soldiers coming for him, and he knows Rick cannot be here when they arrive. "You'd best be on yer way, Commander. Wouldn't want t' be seen associating with a filthy breed like mine."

"I love you, my wild sky," Rick says so softly, and Daryl refuses to look at him, for he knows he will shatter completely if he does. "I will find you again in our next lives. I will be for you then what my weakness keeps from you now. This I vow."

"I do not take the vows of men on faith alone. Go. Leave me be."

Rick goes, slipping away just in time, and Daryl looks at the uniformed men come to lead him to his death as he stands. He says nothing to them, nor do they speak to him even to jeer. They lead him silently to the gallows, and he goes with his head held high.

 

\--

 

The rope creaks mournfully, straining to hold the weight of the man that swings by the neck from it. His body has stopped convulsing, and his stillness is almost more eerie than the spasms as he'd died. Filthy, tangled dark hair kisses his cold cheeks, the sunlight spilling across tanned skin and scarred muscles making him seem as though he is merely sleeping.

No one says a word as they watch him swing. No one mentions the gap in the ranks where their proud, valiant Commander should be standing.

No one is ready for the explosion of the gun that rips through the heavy silence like a thunderclap. All of them turn as one, shocked, in time to see their beloved Commander as he tumbles back over the edge of the cliff and plunges toward the violent waves below.

In the ensuing, horrified silence, a bird sings a haunting melody.


End file.
